


Werewolves of Quarantine

by goldenraeofsun



Series: You Shook Me All Quarantine Long [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, COVID-19, College | University Student Castiel (Supernatural), College | University Student Dean Winchester, Creature Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, They were QUARANTINED, Werewolf Castiel (Supernatural), implied off screen body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24181915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenraeofsun/pseuds/goldenraeofsun
Summary: Dean struggles to get his bearings. His roommate has vanished into thin air. There’s a wolf in his apartment. It understands human commands. It also hasn’t eaten Dean yet.“What the hell are you?” he asks faintly.The wolf blinks once before actually rolling its eyes, like it can’t believe Dean could really be that much of a dumbass.“Cas?”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: You Shook Me All Quarantine Long [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844563
Comments: 55
Kudos: 698





	Werewolves of Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to [tiamatv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/) and [darkwings17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkwings17/pseuds/darkwings17) for the beta reads!

“I’m going out.”

Dean cranes his neck around to stare. Cas is standing by the door, his usual backpack in hand, and his usual solemn expression on his face.

“You can’t be serious,” Dean says flatly.

Cas blinks. “I wasn’t aware this was a discussion. I was merely informing you of my-”

“Dude, of course it’s a discussion.” Dean mutes the television and turns his body away from his computer screen with his assigned reading. “Where the hell are you going at,” he glances at his watch, “Eleven thirty-four at night?”

Cas’s fingers clench on the straps of his bag. “I need to go,” he says, not answering Dean’s question at all.

“Come on,” Dean scoffs, “whatever you need can wait.”

“It really cannot,” Cas says through gritted teeth.

“What is it?” He smirks. “If you need an emergency tampon or something, you know Charlie left some of hers in the bathroom.”

Cas’s expression darkens. “I am not _menstruating,"_ he says icily.

Dean’s eyebrows raise. “Then what’s got your panties all in a twist? There’s a fucking pandemic out there - you know the drill, no unnecessary trips to the outside world.”

“This is necessary,” Cas says firmly.

It’s late, around Dean’s usual bedtime, and that look in Cas’s eye tells him this is not a fight Dean is going to win. Dean sighs, his shoulders slumping. “You’re fucking insane. You know that?”

Cas nods jerkily. “You’ve said so before.”

Dean huffs and turns back to his computer, leaving the television on silent. “At least take a mask.”

“Yes, Dean.”

A shiver of foreboding runs up Dean's spine as the door closes behind him. 

Dean knows he’s a little overprotective and a germaphobe to boot. Cas is a smart guy - he was the smartest guy in their psych discussion group freshman year. And when Dean almost flunked the midterm, Cas was his first choice in tutor. Asking him for the favor was a nerve-racking process, but at least Dean had the common sense to come up with a plan of attack first. 

For the first couple of weeks, Dean watched him (Dean had picked out all the hot people by the third day) during their nine am lecture. Cas would slump in just in the nick of time, glare blearily around the hall, and take his usual seat. At the midway break, Cas would bolt out of the auditorium like his ass was on fire and always come back with the biggest coffee cup from the cafe next door. 

Cas was surprisingly easy to befriend once Dean was armed with free morning coffee in return for tutoring. For all their differences in personality, they fit somehow.

A year and a half later, when they were allowed to live off campus, Cas offered Dean his extra bedroom. Dean hadn’t thought they were at that stage of their friendship yet, but he should’ve known better. Cas always had a surprise or two up his trenchcoated sleeve.

Like the fact he was secretly loaded, and his apartment was fucking _awesome_.

They each have their own bedrooms, plus a living room with a couch Dean can stretch out on and spread his shit all over with room to spare. Cas renovated the kitchen before Dean moved in - god knows why because the guy can’t cook anything but hamburgers and rare steak - so Dean could experiment and try out new recipes Benny sends him from culinary school. 

Nearly two years since they moved in together, and Cas still only stocks his shelves in the refrigerator with various forms of red meat.

Dean half-heartedly reads a new line of his assignment before giving up in disgust. He switches on the volume for Final Jeopardy.

The front door opens as Trebek reveals the right answer, and Dean almost doesn’t catch Cas hurrying past. “Hey,” Dean says as he looks up, “You’re back.”

Cas turns to face Dean. “I’m going to go to bed,” he says, sounding even more stilted than usual. “Please do not disturb me.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise, and for the first time he takes in Cas’s red face and the way he’s practically vibrating in place. “Buddy, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Dean stands because Cas has never sounded _less_ fine. He takes a step closer. “You're all sweaty.”

“I went on a run.”

“For seventeen minutes?” Dean asks, skepticism dripping from every word, “In jeans?”

“It was a short run,” Cas says defensively. He inches closer to his bedroom door and sends a pointed look at Dean’s midsection. “And you are not an expert on exercise.”

So Dean lifts at the campus gym instead of running on a treadmill like an overgrown hamster, it’s not like he’s a total couch potato.

Dean holds his hands up. “I'm just saying, if you have a fever or something, you should get that checked out. Are you short of breath?”

Cas shakes his head. “I need to sleep.”

"Okay, Mr. Not-a-River-in-Egypt.” Dean takes a step back. “Bang on the wall if you can’t breathe, I guess.”

Cas isn’t too worn down to roll his eyes. “Thank you for your concern, Dean,” he says before he disappears into his bedroom.

Dean waits for some sign Cas needs him - the thump of a body hitting the floor or something. But when nothing comes Dean goes back to his television slash homework.

* * *

Dean doesn’t hear a single sound from behind Cas’s closed door for twenty minutes. Equipped with a new cup of coffee since sleep is only for the weak (and Cas), he is taking another stab at his homework.

Dean blinks out of his late night screen stupor at the sound of a bitten-off groan. It didn’t sound like the sexy-times kind of groan, more like the stubbed-toe kind.

“Cas?” Dean calls, waiting for the noise to come again. “You alright in there?”

Cas doesn’t respond.

Warily, Dean clicks on the next page of his reading, all his senses on high alert for another sign of Cas’s impending demise.

By the time Cas makes another sound, Dean has thrown his laptop to the other end of the couch and has his ear pressed to Cas’s door. Goddammit, that’s definitely a gasp for air.

“Cas!” Dean thumps on his door. “If you’re sick, you gotta let me in. I can help.”

“Dean -” and _shit,_ Cas sounds rough as fuck. His normally deep voice has hit the basement, all gravelly and wrecked. “Stay out, don’t-”

But whatever Cas is warning him about gets cut off by another pained gasp.

“Cas?” Dean barks, “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say the next sound from Cas’ bedroom was the sound of nails on hardwood. Like the time six-year-old Sam brought back a lost dog and let him run around the house.

“Cas?”

Dean’s blood chills at the next _thump_ of something heavy hitting the floor. 

“Why wouldn’t you listen to me,” Dean grunts as he shoves the door open, “you stupid bas-”

There’s a dog. In the middle of Cas’s room. No, a wolf. A wolf-sized dog?

Did it _eat_ Cas? Dean wonders deliriously before rational thinking kicks in.

He slams the door shut.

Dean is halfway out his apartment before he remembers - _pandemic, don’t go outside_ and _holy fuck Cas is back there._

Slowly, he edges away from the front door and turns back around. Between catching a deadly virus or leaving Cas to get mauled to death by a wolf, it’s not a choice at all. Wildly, Dean scans the living room for an appropriate weapon. 

Why couldn’t he have been one of those morons who got the _coronavirus_ mixed up with _the Purge_ and stocked up on guns and ammo? Dad had even sent him a handy link to an online gun store after the first travel ban.

Regretting every decision in his life that led him to this point, Dean grabs one of the largest couch cushions and holds it in front of him like a shield. His instincts scream to put as many layers between himself and the wild animal in Cas’s room. Maybe he can block the wolf’s advance long enough to grab Cas and drag him out? 

He counts silently, one, two, _three_ and shoves the door back open.

He falters on the threshold when he doesn’t see the wolf. Pillow shield raised high, he scans the room for Cas. 

He nearly chokes on air as he spots the wolf curled up on Cas’s bed.

It doesn’t _look_ like it’s going to lunge for Dean’s throat next, but what the hell does Dean know? The closest Dean has ever come to a wild canine was a dopey golden retriever Sam nicknamed Bones. 

Dean stays right where he is and does another scan of the room for Cas. No dice.

He lets out a strangled, “Cas?”

Cas doesn’t answer but -

The wolf on Cas’s bed whines.

“Please be alive, please be alive,” Dean mutters as he forces himself to take a step further into the room. Quick as a flash, he dips his gaze from the wolf to scan the floor underneath Cas’s bed. No bloody smears. No dismembered limbs.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck,”_ Dean mumbles to himself. The window isn’t big enough for a body to fit through; there are no other doors out of here, except for the one at Dean’s back.

What the hell is going on?

“Cas?” he tries.

The wolf gets up at the sound of Dean’s voice.

Dean nearly trips in his attempt to put as much space between them as possible. 

The wolf hops off the bed, maintaining eye contact.

Dean keeps retreating out the open door and into the living room. His brain is screaming warning alarms at him, and this is definitely it; this is how he’s gonna die. 

The wolf comes closer, and Dean sucks in a ragged breath. “Don’t take another step,” he warns.

The wolf freezes.

Dean keeps a tight grip on the pillow, refusing to let his guard down. Intelligence lurks behind those yellow eyes, bright as the full moon outside. Maybe it’s waiting for the clear shot to Dean’s jugular. “Stay back,” Dean orders, his voice shaking.

The wolf whines, nails scraping against the floor as its paws hastily backtrack. 

“What the fuck,” Dean mutters, jaw dropping as the wolf stops only when its rear end hits Cas’s bed. Dean’s eyes go round as the wolf actually _sits_.

“Okay, okay,” Dean struggles to get his bearings. His roommate has vanished into thin air. There’s a wolf in his apartment who might understand human commands. It hasn’t eaten Dean yet. He takes a cautious step closer.

The wolf lowers itself to the floor, snout resting on his paws. It stares up at Dean, almost imploring.

“What the hell are you?” he asks faintly.

The wolf blinks once before actually _rolling its eyes,_ like it can’t believe Dean could really be that much of a dumbass _._

Well, shit.

“Cas?”

* * *

It takes him almost a full half hour for Dean to move closer. He keeps his trusty pillow in a white-knuckled grip as he painstakingly shuffles towards the wolf - werewolf? - in his best friend’s bedroom.

“Cas,” he croaks, his voice hoarse.

The wolf tips his head. He waits patiently as Dean reaches out a trembling hand, eventually giving Dean up as a lost cause and shoving his nose into Dean’s palm.

Dean yanks his hand back as the caveman part of his brain registers _predator - moving - fast - too close_.

Cas cringes in on himself.

“Wait, no,” Dean says, and he can’t believe the spike of guilt rushing through him. “You surprised me, dude.”

Cas sends him a beady-eyed look before resettling his head on his paws, waiting for Dean to make the next move.

“Okay,” Dean says as he mentally steels himself, “If you bite my hand off, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Cas whuffs a wolfy sigh, sounding annoyed and tired all at the same time.

Dean tries again, his face going slack as his fingers card through the fur on top of the wolf’s head. He expected it to be softer, but the strands are thick and hardy, clearly meant for cold weather and the outdoors.

No wonder Cas was itching to get outside tonight.

He doesn't know how long they sit together on the floor, only registering time passing as his knees begin to ache in protest.

Dean groans from a combination of pain in his lower half and regret at having to stop petting Cas. He stands up. To his surprise, Cas also gets up too, clambering to all fours. He looks quizzically up at Dean, and goddamn, he still does the head tilt.

“Not all of us have a fur coat padding the floor for them,” Dean reminds him as he takes an experimental step to shake out the pins and needles.

Cas whines.

“What?” Dean says, not expecting an answer. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Cas leans against Dean’s legs, his warm bulk radiating through Dean’s jeans.

“Uh huh,” Dean says, still mostly confused. “I still have work to do, so…”

Cas trots out of the room and hops up on the couch, circling once in place before he plops down. The couch is more than large enough to accommodate both of them, so Dean tentatively sits down in his old spot. Cas closes his eyes and exhales a long, slow breath.

“Right,” Dean says dubiously as he picks his computer back up and taps the keyboard a few times. He shoots Cas a cautious glance before trying to focus on the screen. 

He is doing his homework while his werewolf roommate tries to sleep next to him. 

“This isn’t weird at all,” he mutters as he types in his password.

Cas’s eyes slit open, and his tail whacks once into Dean’s shoulder.

Dean glares. “Uncalled for, man.”

* * *

Dean wakes up on the couch alone. Sunlight streams through the windows, pink-tinged with the early hour. He sits up, wincing as yesterday's jeans tug against his usual morning wood. 

He stretches his arms above his head and his spine pops.

Eyes wide, he shoots a panicked glance at Cas's closed door. 

Christ, Dean thought the morning after a one night stand was awkward. What does someone say the day after they find out their best friend occasionally transforms into a giant wolf?

He doesn't hear anything coming from Cas's bedroom, but Cas has always been a light sleeper. If Dean tries to go back to sleep in his own room, he's more likely than not to wake up Cas somehow. 

Dean busies himself with making coffee. Coffee, he can do. He has made Cas his morning cup of coffee a thousand times before.

Cas emerges from his bedroom as Dean pours in the milk. “Here,” he says gruffly, handing the cup over along with a spoon.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, blushing furiously.

“No problem.”

They sip in silence, and last night sits heavily on Dean’s shoulders.

Cas breaks the tension first. “You must have questions.”

Dean has a feeling a whole week isn’t going to be enough to wrap his head around this. He blows on his coffee to buy time. Eventually he asks, “So... werewolf?”

Cas rolls his eyes, and he definitely thinks Dean is the biggest dumbass to walk the earth. 

Dean taps his fingers against the sides of his mug as he tries to think of something to ask next. “And how long have you been a… werewolf?” he asks, only tripping a little bit on the word.

“My whole life,” Cas says, staring down into his coffee. His eyes narrow as Dean doesn't jump in with a new question. “That's it?” he asks incredulously. 

“What do you want me to say?” Dean demands, “I don’t know what the hell is going on. I don’t know _you,_ apparently.”

Cas bites his lip. “You do,” he protests quietly.

Dean makes a scoffing noise of disbelief. He runs a hand through his hair, unable to look at Cacs. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Will you let me?” Cas asks as he gestures to the couch. “I think you should be sitting down for this part.”

“Pretty sure the surprise part is over,” Dean mutters as he follows Cas and sits down. “Unless,” he side-eyes Cas, “you’re about to tell me you’re a vampire too.”

Cas shakes his head. “Vampires aren’t real.”

“So you’re saying you’re not a... werepire.” Dean takes a sip of coffee.

Cas’s gaze rakes over Dean’s face before he says tentatively, “You’re making fun of me.”

Dean snorts. “A little.”

Cas visibly brightens, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a barely-there smile.

“Unless werepires are actually a real thing,” Dean adds quickly. “Then I meant it as a legitimate question.”

“They’re not,” Cas assures him. “Neither are vampires.”

Dean makes a face. “Seriously?”

Cas shrugs. “If they are, no one in my family has ever met one.”

“So,” Dean trails off, unsure of how delicately to dance around the issue, “your family are all werewolves too?”

“Most of them,” Cas says. “Several in-laws are not.”

“And you were born a werewolf,” Dean repeats, “You weren’t, I dunno, bitten in a creepy, abandoned playground when you were a kid?”

“You watch too many horror movies,” Cas says, his voice almost fond, and Dean can’t entirely squash down the burst of affection at Cas’s tone.

“Okay, Mr. Big Bad Wolf, what else does Hollywood get wrong?”

Cas’s brow furrows. “Other than the bite? Technically, we can turn people with a bite, but it’s a much more involved process than people assume.” He meets Dean’s eyes, his expression a little apprehensive. “To be entirely honest, I’m not sure what pop culture has to say about werewolves. I haven’t watched many movies or many television shows.”

Dean laughs out loud. “I should've known. Well, the full moon thing is true.”

“Unfortunately,” Cas says, grimacing. “We have to turn.”

“Only on the full moon?”

Cas raises his eyebrows. “I am a full-time student in a very rigorous academic program with aspirations for graduate school. I don’t have the time to transform willy-nilly.”

Dean grins. Only Cas would use ‘willy-nilly’ unironically in conversation. He reaches over to pat Cas on the knee. “Of course you don’t. But you’re obviously not a bloodthirsty monster on the full moon - another thing Hollywood lied to me about.”

Cas looks away, shaking his head slowly. “We’re not active predators on the full moon, unless we turn on an empty stomach.” He pauses. “But we don’t always stay ourselves.”

“I mean, you seemed pretty yourself last night,” Dean says cautiously. 

“It’s a choice,” Cas says, his face blank. “You can choose to keep your human mind and feel every part of the transformation, and it is excruciating - or you can let it go, and wake up at moonset with only a hazy memory of the night before.”

Dean can still hear Cas’s pained gasps and entirely non-sexy moans from behind the door. Speechless, he can only manage, “So that’s why...”

Cas nods. “Unless I am in a very secure location, I can’t let go.” He takes a sip of coffee, meeting Dean’s helpless gaze over the rim of his mug. “I wanted to visit the park off Main and Fourth Avenue. It’s large enough I won’t be seen and arouse suspicion.”

“Is that where you went last night?” At Cas’s nod, Dean asks, baffled, “Why did you come back here?”

“They closed off all the public parks on Sunday. I had nowhere else to go.”

“You couldn't have just roamed around for a couple of hours?”

“And hope nobody spots a wolf in the streets and calls animal control?” he asks archly.

“Next time, I'll get you a collar with my number on it.” Dean’s smile widens as Cas goes all red in the face. “I'll pick you up from the pound if you get wolfnapped.”

Cas throws Dean an exasperated but amused look before slumping back against the couch cushions. He groans, “If I was reckless enough to get caught, I suppose I would deserve it.”

Dean chuckles. “Wait ‘til Sammy hears I got a dog before him.”

Cas’s responding glare carries hardly any heat. “I knew I should have risked the pound.”

* * *

Surprisingly, their lives don’t change much after Dean finds out Cas’s furry little secret. They’re still cooped up together, with no end in sight to quarantine. Dean continues to struggle with motivation for his online classes. Cas helps where he can, but he’s also taking more courses than Dean and has his own responsibilities.

Dean only quits singing, _“aa-hoo werewolves of London!_ ” whenever Cas enters a room after he gets genuinely growls at. To Cas’s credit, he takes three entire days to snap.

Before Dean leaves for their next grocery run a week later, suited up like they’re living in Chernobyl - gloves, face mask, several layers over his vital areas despite the almost-spring weather - he asks Cas what he wants.

Cas looks up from his spreadsheet. “Ground beef, please,” he says. “Steak, too, if it’s available.”

Dean nods; it’s Cas’s standard order. 

He pauses.

“Is the meat a werewolf thing?”

Cas makes a face. “You eat a lot of animal products, too, Dean. I remember you calling yourself the Meat Man on more than one occasion.”

“One, I still stand by that. The Meat Man deserves respect _,_ ” Dean says. “B, is it a werewolf thing?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You’re probably getting warm under all that protection.”

“Damn right I am. Still waiting for an answer.”

“You should go before you overheat.”

“I’m starting to think you’re avoiding the question.”

Cas sighs. “Yes, it is a werewolf thing,” he says reluctantly. “The best is the heart, but obviously that would arouse too much suspicion if I ate them regularly.”

Dean grins behind his mask. “Now, was that so hard?”

Cas deliberately turns back to his computer. “I’m busy, Dean.”

Dean offers him a salute goodbye, careful not to touch his gloved hand to his face. “See ya.”

He has to go to the butcher to find a fucking cow heart. He didn’t know where the butcher _was_ before today. The Meat Man can subsist and thrive off their usual grocery store’s deli counter, but apparently werewolves are classier than that.

Dean returns triumphantly to their apartment forty-five minutes later. “Got a surprise for you,” he announces once the mask is off his face.

“I hope it’s not the coronavirus,” Cas mumbles from where he’s seated on the couch, television off and classical music emitting from his shitty computer speakers. 

Dean glares as he starts sanitizing everything he brought inside. “That’s not a thank you.”

Cas sets aside his computer and stands, stretching his arms above his head.

Dean sneaks only one split-second peek.

“What is it?” Cas asks as he walks closer, blue eyes squinting at the foodstuffs Dean laboriously hauled in from the outside world.

“Here,” Dean says gruffly. He shoves two paper-wrapped hearts towards Cas and focuses intently on scrubbing down their new carton of milk.

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice rapturous as he peels back the wrapping. “You didn’t.”

“Wasn’t a big deal.”

“They don’t sell these at the supermarket.”

“Nope.”

“Dean.”

“What?” Dean looks up. “You’ve been studying hard and shit. Least I could do.”

“I know how much you hate spending time outside,” Cas points out in an undertone.

“’Bout time I got more vitamin D, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Cas says reverently. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this.” He carefully rewraps the hearts in the butcher paper. “I usually only eat them when I’m back home.”

Dean tosses the used wipe in the trash and grabs a new one to get each individual beer can in his six pack. “Sorry you can’t be there.”

Cas reaches for the container of wipes and gets started on a can too. He says quietly, “My life is here. I think I made the right decision.”

* * *

The week before the next full moon Cas gets… _cuddly._ There’s no other way to describe the change. Before, when Dean and Cas would work together on the couch, a good foot or two of space would sit between them. Now, if Dean moves an inch, he always bumps into Cas’s elbow, his knee, his shoulder, or one mortifying time, _his thigh._ It was as firm as Dean had expected.

Dean is the sort of person who can’t work in his bedroom. It’s sacred for sleeping in and jerking off. That’s it.

Before the mandated shut-ins, Cas occasionally retreated to his room to work for important assignments. Now, he’s constantly underfoot, spending all his time in the communal spaces.

Dean snaps after four days. 

“Can you move?” he asks impatiently after he brushes against Cas’s upper arm for the tenth time in an hour. It’s barely noon, and this journal article from Applied Thermal Engineering is not enough to distract him from his growing hunger or the warmth of Cas’s body leeching through Dean’s thin tee shirt and pajama pants.

Cas’s face falls, like Dean asked him to spit roast a dozen guinea pigs instead of shifting four inches to the left. He doesn’t move.

“Personal space, Cas,” Dean says flatly. “I know we talked about this.”

Cas reluctantly complies, and Dean breathes a little easier.

Fifteen minutes later, Cas gets up to refill his glass of water and sits back down leaving no room for Jesus. 

“Dude,” Dean protests after an unbearably long minute. 

“Yes, Dean?”

“Personal space!”

Cas's face adopts a wounded expression, and that is _it._

“What's your deal?” Dean demands as Cas leans away from him, slow as a sloth on Xanax. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Cas's mouth falls open. He blinks stupidly at Dean, his blue eyes wide. “It's getting close to the full moon,” he says in an undertone. “The proximity heightens my instincts and lowers my inhibitions.”

Dean’s mind takes the prompt _lowered inhibitions_ plus _Castiel_ and runs haywire. 

Cas jumping him on this very couch. 

Cas surprising him in his bedroom during his nightly jerk off session. 

Cas blowing him in the kitchen as he attempts to do the dishes. 

“But you've never-” Dean rasps as common sense catches up to him. “You've spent full moons here before and didn't… do anything.”

“I haven't.”

“What?”

“Last month was the first time I've spent the majority of the nights leading up to the Moon here,” Cas says, an odd blush staining his cheeks. 

“That can't be right. The only nights you weren't here were with… Daphne,” he finishes, resigned. “So she knew about-” he doesn’t say the word as his mouth closes up, the heavy weight of disappointment sinking in his gut. 

Cas and Daphne were close, Dean had learned early on. Cas was so protective of her that Dean had only met the girlfriend three times in the two years they'd dated. On one hand, it fucking blew that Cas had someone waiting in the wings, but on the other, Dean never saw her, so he could pretend she didn't exist.

It was actually the ideal scenario for Dean. Out of sight, out of mind - except for once a month, apparently, when Cas showed her his deepest darkest secret, years before he was forced to share the same with Dean.

When Cas and Daphne broke up, the day after quarantine started, Dean took the win: Cas, all to himself, for god knows how long. 

“My relationship with Daphne wasn't real.”

 _“What?”_ Dean demands, a tad louder than be meant to.

Cas squirms in his seat, wringing his hands in his lap. “I've always gone home in the past.”

“Your folks live three states away,” Dean points out faintly.

Cas nods miserably. “I didn't want to mention it.”

“Why?”

Cas doesn't meet his gaze. “Because you would have seen it as an unnecessary expense.”

“What you do on your own time is none of my business,” Dean says, his voice stiff.

Cas sighs. “I didn’t want you to think of me differently. Our backgrounds are already worlds apart.”

“I always knew you were loaded,” Dean says awkwardly; their apartment is proof. But Dean has never felt more like a stupid lucky scholarship kid in his life. “The werewolf thing is new, though.”

“Still, it can be a… sore subject between us.”

“So you decided to make up a girlfriend instead?” Dean demands, incredulous.

“It wasn’t entirely my idea,” Cas says hesitantly, “Anna said a girlfriend would make - anyway, she was wrong, but it was a convenient excuse.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters. How many times can Cas turn his world upside-down before his head explodes?

Cas glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye before his gaze skitters away again.

Dean breaks the silence first. “So you never had a girlfriend at all. Not one?”

Cas narrows his eyes. “How could I? You already thought I was strange, and we live together. How long would it take a significant other to put together the pieces?”

“Pretty long,” Dean says honestly. “I would've never guessed unless I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“Yes, well,” Cas waves away Dean’s answer, “I would have to find someone interested in me first, and I've seen little evidence they exist.”

Dean makes a face. “Come on. That’s such bullshit.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “It isn’t.”

“What about Meg?”

“She’s a psychopath.”

“April Kelly?”

“Also a psychopath.”

“Hannah.”

Cas considers her. “She’s a good friend.”

“It’s not all she wants to be,” Dean mutters under his breath.

“A very devoted friend,” Cas adds, but he sounds more uncertain.

“Balthazar.”

Cas dismisses the suggestion with a wave of his hand. “He’s like that with everyone.”

Dean snorts. “He never tried to get into my pants.”

“Because you’re… prickly.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Alfie.”

“Hero worship.”

Dean purses his lips. “Come on, you know with a little liquid courage, he would totally try to get some.”

Cas grimaces. “So you might have a-”

“Amelia, Kelly Kline - hell, even Bartholomew with your weird competition thing,” Dean ticks off. Finished, he exhales a long breath as the satisfaction of making his point bleeds into embarrassment. Heat floods his face.

Sam has always said Dean is too self-righteous for his own good. While Dean has noticed classmates (and a TA or too) taking too much of an interest in his roommate, he shouldn’t have _told_ Cas about them. He doesn’t have to be right about everything all the time - except he kind of does _._

If Cas realizes how much attention Dean has paid to his love life... 

Cas frowns. “Still, relationships are off the table until I can figure out how to explain away disappearances once a month.”

“Say you have a sick grandma who you have to visit,” Dean offers. “Only assholes doubt sick granny stories.”

“Isn’t it a bit… cliche?”

“You’re a werewolf who turns on the full moon and craves red meat,” Dean says flatly. “At some point, you gotta embrace it.”

“Wouldn’t a significant other want to come with me at some point if I spend so much time caring for an ailing grandmother?”

Dean would drive to the other end of the country and back with Cas, if he asked. Hell, he’d brave a flying deathtrap, as long as he could hold onto Cas’s hand the whole time. Instead he says, “Say she’s immunocompromised and is under a strict relative-only visitor policy.”

“This is getting unnecessarily convoluted,” Cas mutters. “You know I’m no good at lying for any sustained period of time.”

“True,” Dean acknowledges. He had to put on a master performance when Sam popped in to “surprise” Dean for his last birthday after Cas spilled the beans a week earlier by accident.

Cas sinks back into the couch, leaning more into Dean’s space. Their upper arms touch, and Cas’s quarantine-long hair tickles Dean’s shoulder though his thin tee shirt.

“So, the touching thing,” Dean begins haltingly, “it’s because of instinctual stuff?” His heart thumps double-time in his chest as he musters up every scrap of courage he has to ask, “Does that mean you really want to be with me?”

“I prefer to be around people,” Cas corrects. “When I go home, all my relatives are there, for instance."

Dean’s unexpected elation fizzles into nothing, replaced by a dull resignation. So Cas doesn’t possess some secret, buried-so-deep-it-comes-out-only-around-the-full-moon, desire for Dean in particular. Hardly news to Dean.

But Cas still means he wants Dean near him. 

“What can I do to help?” Dean asks. 

“Excuse me?”

Face flushing again, Dean soldiers on, “This is practically your first time in a new environment. Gotta be stressful, right? Least I can do is try to make it easier for you.”

“Ah,” Cas looks away as he shifts so they’re touching shoulder to knee, “This is fine. Being this close to you, this is almost as good.”

Dean nods robotically. 

Good old Dean Winchester, he’s almost as good as what you really want.

* * *

The day of the full moon, Dean frets more than Cas. He cooks up more steak than they can eat, and he jumps between five different online assignments, finishing none of them. 

As the evening wears on, Cas pulls out the big guns: Dean’s _Dr. Sexy, MD_ box set. He starts with the pilot, putting on a decent attempt at Sam’s best puppy dog eyes.

Dean stops scrubbing at his cheap-ass, so-called, non-stick pan and joins to watch.

“I got a leash,” Dean blurts as Dr. Piccolo reluctantly operates on her secret identical twin, “for you,” he adds unnecessarily.

“Excuse me?” Cas says, a little surprised and a lot offended judging from the deep furrow in his forehead.

“If you want to go out,” Dean explains quickly, almost tripping over his words in his haste, “I can go with you, carry a leash, so if anyone asks, I’ll say we were going on a midnight run. I won’t use it, obviously. It’d be for show.”

Cas’s expression clears, and Dean exhales a tiny sigh of relief. “You wouldn’t put the leash on me?”

“Heh,” Dean grins weakly, “Only if you asked real nice.”

Cas glares. “I wouldn’t.”

“Then no, of course not.”

Cas turns to face him. “You hate running.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s supposed to be good for me. So you and Sam keep telling me.”

“It is,” Cas confirms, “But if you’d rather stay in here, I don’t want to force you outside.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” Dean says firmly. “It’s not just for you. I wanna see you in action too.”

Cas’s head tilts as he repeats, “In action?” 

Dean rubs the back of his neck as he stares hard at Dr. Piccolo’s picture-perfect suturing technique. “You know, wolf-you. Gotta be pretty impressive, out in an open space where you could really move.”

Cas frowns, but he doesn’t reject Dean’s suggestion. “I suppose,” he says slowly, “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“So you’re down?”

“Yes, Dean.” He shakes his head, one corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smile. “I’ll let you take me outside. It might be fun.”

* * *

It is not fun at all.

Dean’s lungs are on fire. His throat is as dry as a desert. He’d kill his own mother for a bottle of water.

Ahead, Cas is a large, fuzzy blur in the dark. He sprints down the street, large paws almost silent as they pound against the pavement. 

Dean jogs determinedly behind, a slow plodding mess who should’ve known better than to listen to his idiot brother about the benefits of fucking jogging. He glances at his watch, and how the hell have they only been outside for fifteen minutes? 

Cas makes a slow u-turn, panting as he trots back to Dean.

“We’re never doing this,” Dean huffs, “again.”

Cas bumps his head against Dean’s aching thigh.

“I hate this,” Dean pants, “so much.”

Cas glares up at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean stops, bracing his hands on his knees as he gulps in air, “I know this was all my idea. Don’t need to tell me twice.”

Cas whuffs and pushes his nose against Dean’s ass.

Dean jumps. He would have had a heart attack if his heart and lungs still worked. “What the hell?” he demands, his voice strangled.

Cas does it again, this time nudging him more deliberately forward.

“Fine, fine,” he mutters as he picks up the pace. “I’m going.”

Cas barks and happily bounds ahead of him.

“Showoff,” Dean mutters.

Cas barks louder, the sound echoing around the empty streets.

With a grim resignation, Dean puts one foot in front of the other, hauling his protesting body forward. Cas speeds ahead, but he always waits for Dean before he can get out of sight.

As they near Edlund Memorial Park, Dean sags against the shuttered gates. “I’m fucking wiped, man,” he grumbles as Cas cautiously approaches. “You do your thing. I’ll wait here.”

Cas shakes his head.

“What?” Dean says, a little bite in his tone. “I need a break. Not all of us have supernatural endurance, Teen Wolf.”

Cas rolls his eyes and bends down, front paws extended.

While Dean stands there, still trying to catch his breath, Cas noses his snout between Dean’s back and the fence, deliberately pushing him back out into the open.

“It’s not time to move yet, goddammit,” Dean swears as he stumbles forward.

But Cas doesn't take off for another sprint. Instead, he does the forward bow again.

Dean frowns.

Cas huffs an exasperated sigh and bends down, this time keeping his head lower.

“Downward dog,” Dean mutters, the position unmistakeable.

Cas bounds up, nodding.

“You want me to stretch,” Dean surmises grimly.

Cas nods again.

“I hate you so much,” Dean says in an undertone as he tries to touch his toes. He sucks in a pained breath as his hamstrings ache in protest. “I’m only doing this ’cause I can’t hurt any worse at this point,” he tells his knees.

Cas watches him, his yellow-eyed stare unblinking.

Dean winces as he pulls something in a way it shouldn’t ever be pulled. “Figures you and Sam were lying about stretching too,” he grunts as he clasps both hands behind his back, opening up his chest like Lisa taught him to. He bends down again. “This fucking blows, man.”

Cas lets out a mournful little howl.

“Shut up,” Dean hisses. “You don’t sound like a dog when you do that at all.”

Cas cuts himself off with a glare at Dean.

“ _I_ know you’re not a dog, Jesus,” Dean mutters as he shakes out his aching limbs. “Touchy.”

Cas lifts his snout in the air, pointedly tipping his head back the way they came. 

Dean pumps his arms experimentally a few times before restarting his run.

Cas has the nerve to check on Dean before he takes ten steps.

“Still behind you,” Dean grunts.

Once Cas turns back forward, Dean groans under his breath, not that he has much left. Cas more or less keeps pace with him, his yellow eyes eerie in the dark as he turns his head every minute or so to check on Dean’s progress. Probably to make sure Dean doesn’t drop dead on the sidewalk from exhaustion without him noticing.

Dean inches by the empty businesses and shuttered apartments at the pace of a drunk slug.

* * *

Dean lays down on the floor of his apartment. Fuck moving ever again.

Cas circles him, yellow eyes scanning up and down Dean’s exhausted body.

“Quit it, Cas,” Dean mumbles as he closes his eyes to block out Cas’s concerned stare. “I’m never doing that again. Don’t know what I was thinking. Clearly I wasn’t.” He sighs and inhales a gratefully deep breath. Something about lying flat on the floor is strangely calming, zero stress on his joints or bones, no tension in his muscles or tendons. 

Because Dean has never done well with silences, he keeps going, “You’re lucky I love you, is all I’m saying. I wouldn’t do it for anyone else, for fucking sure. Hell, last time Sam was here, he asked if I wanted to run with him every damn morning. But I held out,” he doesn’t wait for a response, “No fucking way, I said. But that was before I’d been shut in here for more than a month, climbing the damn walls and about to chew on the window sills for something new to do.” He groans, slapping a hand over his closed eyes to block out the rest of the light.

Dean doesn't notice the background sound of Cas’s breathing until it stops.

“Cas?” He opens his eyes, scrambling a little to sit up.

Cas paws at Dean’s closest hand and whines, high and plaintive.

Dean blinks, mentally rewinding his rambling to figure out what’s got Cas all hot and bothered.

“I’m gonna shower,” he says quickly. Before Cas can stop him, he bolts for the bathroom, all aches and pains forgotten in a single, panicked burst of adrenaline. He locks the door behind him, ignoring another whine from Cas back in the living room.

“Shit,” he mutters as he kicks off his shoes and strips, leaving his sweaty shirt and shorts in a pile next to the bathmat.

He takes the most stressful shower of his life.

If Cas kicks him out in the middle of a pandemic, where will he go? What the fuck will he _do?_ Sam went back to Sioux Falls after the dorms closed. Dean could follow, but what about his stuff? Cas probably wouldn’t throw it out, but he won’t hang onto it forever. And Dean’s not sure he’ll even come back. The rest of the academic year is practically gone, and his local summer internship has probably been cancelled.

With a resigned grimace, he opens the door and almost bumps into Cas, sprawled across the threshold like a large furry welcome mat. Without looking at him, Dean makes a beeline for the safety of his bedroom. 

Cas follows, nails clacking against the floor. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters before he turns around. “Look, can you forget it?” He swallows, his heart in his throat. “We don’t have to talk about it, like ever. You already said you didn’t want anything with me.” He breaks off, breathing out harshly through his nose, before continuing, “I know where we stand. I’m not gonna press you for anything, alright? It won't be like that.”

Cas whines, padding closer.

Dean takes a hasty step back. “I want to go to bed, okay?” He’s not above begging for the space to lick his wounds in private. “It’s been a fucking long night, and I’m wiped. Come on, buddy.”

Cas hangs his head.

Dean escapes into his bedroom. He tosses his towel over the desk chair he never uses and changes into pajamas. His bed creaks as he lays down.

Not five seconds later, nails scrape against his door.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters, like anything he says will shut Cas out when he’s determined. The stupid son of a bitch is stubborn. 

_Scratch, scratch._

He turns over in his bed.

Cas whines.

“Go away, Cas,” Dean calls “‘M trying to sleep.”

Cas _howls._

“Cas!” Dean thunders as he yanks the covers back and marches to yank open his bedroom door. “Do you want the neighbors to - what the fuck?” He spins slowly in place, eyes widening as Cas scurries past him to jump on his bed. “What are you doing?”

Cas deliberately lays down in the middle.

Dean levels him a flat stare. “You’ve got to be joking.” He closes the door and stalks over to his bed. “If this is some attempt to make sure I don’t avoid you in the morning, I can’t. We live in the same goddamn apartment under quarantine. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas rolls his eyes and flops over sideways on the bed.

“Seriously,” Dean says as he stands over the bed, arms crossed. 

Cas’s whole flank expands with the force of his sigh.

Dean pokes him in the shoulder. “Get off my bed, jackass. What the hell am I supposed to do? Sleep on the couch?”

Cas, of course, doesn’t answer. But he flips over onto his back, paws pinwheeling ridiculously for a moment, before resettling closer to the wall, leaving the middle of the bed vacant. A clear invitation.

“I’m not sleeping with you.” Dean reddens as soon as the words are out of his mouth. But how else was he supposed to phrase it?

Cas cranes his head around to keep Dean in view. His tail thumps twice against the mattress.

“I don’t know what you’re up to,” Dean says, his suspicion heavy in every word, “but I don’t like it. Have fun sleeping in my bed, you weirdo,” he mutters as he yanks his blanket off the bed and grabs his pillow with his other hand.

Cas actually growls at him.

Dean freezes, the caveman part of his brain sounding the alarm. Angry wolf plus Dean equals maiming. But - beneath all the fur it’s Cas, and Cas would never hurt him. As Dean’s heart rate returns to normal, he half-heartedly tugs the blanket again.

Cas wobbles to all fours on Dean’s memory foam and lays back down, right on top of Dean’s blanket. Since Dean doesn’t have superhuman strength to take on a werewolf, he lets go. This is pointless.

Usually, he can go toe-to-toe with Cas armed only with his give ‘em hell attitude and a strong cup of coffee. At this hour, after the night he’s had, Dean is exhausted. He’s dreading the moment Cas can talk back; his whole body aches, and he still has all the stupid online assignments he didn’t wrap up today.

Tomorrow is going to suck.

With a grunt, Dean drops his pillow back at the head of the bed and lays down.

Cas gives him one beady-eyed look, as if he’s worried Dean is going to up and run out on him the moment his back is turned, before he gets up and settles next to Dean, instead of at his feet.

The heat of Cas’s body radiates from his half of the bed, and the fur on his belly looks especially tempting this close. Dean would bury his hands (or face) in it if he could; it’s probably super soft.

Dean turns away, fists clenched tight against his own chest to keep from reaching out.

Behind him, Cas wuffs softly and settles in for the night. 

* * *

As Dean wakes, he vaguely recalls being smothered by a polar bear, but any dream fragments disappear with the sound of heavy, uneven footfalls moving away from the bed.

“Cas?” he calls groggily as he pries his eyes open. His internal clock tells him it’s several hours before his normal wakeup time. He squints into the predawn darkness, but Cas’s blurry shape stays blurry. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Dean,” Cas gasps as he limps to the door on four, maybe two, legs, “go back to-” he cuts himself off with a spastic, involuntary jerk of the head. He lunges to the door without another word.

Fully awake, Dean throws the covers off. “Dude, are you-”

Cas all but flings himself out of the room. Dean makes a break for the door. He yanks on the handle, but it doesn’t give. Cas must be holding it shut.

“Cas!” Dean hammers with his fist. “Lemme out!”

On the other side, Cas makes a pained, choked noise.

“Cas!”

“Dean, stay there,” Cas orders, his voice only slightly muffled. “It’s almost over.”

Dean tries the door again, but it won’t budge. “Come on, this is stupid!” he calls, “I can handle it!” 

In the living room, Cas is suspiciously silent.

“If you're dying, I'm gonna be so pissed at you,” Dean swears as he kicks out in retaliation.

Cas grunts. 

"I mean it, werewolf or not, I'm gonna kick your-" Dean cuts himself off as the knob rattles and the door opens to reveal an exhausted and _naked_ Cas. 

“Uh,” Dean slaps a hand over his eyes, “I didn't see anything,” he lies. 

Cas sighs loudly. “As you _can_ see, I am not dying.”

Dean nods, eyes squeezed shut behind his fingers. Rooted to the spot, he waits as Cas’s footfalls take off in the direction of his room. He only drops his hand at the sound of Cas's door shutting quietly. 

Dean’s shoulders slump as he takes in his perfectly normal living room - no slasher-movie blood splatters or, Dean doesn’t know, wolf teeth scattered on the carpet. His laptop lays innocently on the couch and Cas’s stack of binders rest undisturbed on the coffee table. 

He spares one look at Cas’s still-closed door before making his way past the kitchen island to the coffee maker. He promised Cas he wouldn't run away in the morning, and if he’s anything, Dean Winchester is a man of his word.

Dean tries to focus on the task at hand, but every single one of his senses is super tuned in to any sign of Cas’s approach. 

Dean is leaning over the counter, the pads of his thumbs digging into his chin as his palms flank his face like blinders when Cas says, “Is coffee ready?” from _way_ too close. 

Dean nearly jumps out of his skin. “We gotta get you a bell,” he gasps as he tries to get his heart rate down to its normal rhythm. 

“Or you could be more observant,” Cas says mildly as he walks around Dean to grab their usual mugs from the drying rack. 

Dean shakes his head, an unbidden smile raising the corners of his mouth despite himself. 

Cas hands Dean his mug, letting their fingers brush, and it’s like Dean's been doused with ice water. 

He can joke all he likes as if today is a normal Thursday morning, but it is so far from that it isn’t funny. 

He coughs and turns away from Cas, thankful the coffee has finished brewing. He gives Cas a hefty pour and then himself. He leaves out sugar and milk because when Dean wants to punish himself, he doesn't half ass it. He whole asses it - and nearly burns the roof of his mouth off. With a pained wince, he sets his mug down.

“So,” Dean says, arms folded across his chest. 

Cas starts, staring at Dean like he didn’t expect him to speak first.

“Do you want me to move out or what?” Dean asks, his tone clipped. He mentally pats himself on the back for not chickening out last second.

Cas splutters on his next sip of coffee. Face red, he shakes his head. 

Dean sags, his relief palpable. He unwinds his arms and picks up his coffee, asking tentatively, “We’re okay?”

Cas doesn’t answer at once, careening Dean’s nerves back to high-alert. Cas’s brows furrow as he takes an _infuriating_ amount of time to figure out what the hell he’s going to say. Normally, Dean can appreciate how Cas’s words are always measured and well-thought out, unlike his own unfiltered mess with too many references and stupid jokes to ever convey anything meaningful.

Now he’d rather Cas spit it out and get it over with.

“Killing me with the suspense here,” he drawls, his annoyance ticking up. “Look, if you want me to give you… space, or whatever, I can. I’m not a mindreader, though, so you gotta let me know with your words - not a Vulcan mind meld.”

Cas’s mouth twists. “Do _you_ want space?”

“Do... I?” Dean repeats incredulously. “What the - no! What kind of ass-backwards logic are you on?”

“Then I don’t understand,” Cas says, frustrated.

Dean’s jaw clenches. “I only want to know where we stand. I said I wouldn’t avoid talking about it in the morning, so,” he makes a sweeping gesture between them, “here I am, in the morning, talking to you.”

Cas dips his head. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Dean’s expression sours further at Cas’s non-answer. “Yeah well, you can take your thanks and shove it up your ass. Tell me what I need to know, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Cas looks like Dean had slapped him across the face. With a barely-there current of fury running like a livewire through his words, he declares, “You are the most aggravating person I’ve ever known.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Hardly a fucking newsflash. It doesn't explain why you wanted to talk so bad you _slept in my bed_ last night to make sure I couldn’t get away.”

Cas yanks open the fridge and grabs their lone jar of jam. He scowls at it ferociously, saying, “Last night, you said you loved me. Then, you acted like you couldn’t stand to be around me. Now, you’re trying to say _I’m_ the one who needs space.” He slams the jar down on the counter, violently yanks open their cutlery jar, and roots around for a butter knife. 

Wordlessly, Dean hands over their loaf of bread and container of peanut butter, perversely fascinated with his outburst. Cas is normally so controlled. When their wifi slowed during the fourth day of quarantine, Cas just looked like he was constipated the whole day. Dean, on the other hand, dented the plaster near their internet router with his fist. 

Cas doesn't acknowledge Dean’s help in sandwich assembly. Instead he continues, “And forgive me if I took liberties, but I _know_ you, Dean. You don’t say things you don’t mean. At least, you didn’t before last night.”

Dean finds himself nodding along before he can help himself.

“I’m not good at reading the signs, but I’m not _blind,”_ Cas continues. A tad overenthusiastic in his jam spreading, he pokes a hole through the bread with the knife. With a growl of frustration, he drops everything with a clatter. He braces his hands on the counter and breathes in deep, eyes closed. “There’s only one sign I don’t understand. If you were exaggerating or lying last night, tell me. I won’t hold it against you. I’ll stay away, as much as I can in our apartment.”

It would be easy to lie, tell Cas he was playing a stupid game. But Cas is right - Dean doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, and denying he meant it strikes a wrong chord down to his very soul.

“I wasn’t lying.”

Cas turns to him, eyes blazing. “Then why are you acting like this?”

“To save you, you stupid idiot,” Dean says, a tad louder than he intended.

“From what?” Cas asks, baffled. “I am very strong, and clearly a great deal faster than you.”

Dean makes a face. “Ouch.”

Cas throws him a supremely unimpressed look before returning to salvage his sandwich. He picks up the floppy piece of bread half-covered with jam. 

“Look,” Dean says as he fishes out a new slice and plucks the ruined piece out of Cas’s hand. “A lot of people don’t want to be around someone who has feelings for them when they don’t feel the same way. Maybe you’re just more enlightened than the rest of us.” He crams Cas’s first sandwich attempt in his mouth.

Cas takes the new piece of bread but doesn’t restart his PB&J. “But I do.”

Dean swallows. “You do want space? Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You should have said so when I _first ask-_ ”

“I do feel the same way,” Cas corrects. “I have loved you for years.”

Dean’s mouth actually falls open. “What?” he asks, his voice faint.

Cas unscrews the peanut butter lid. “I was going to approach you after the quarantine was over, but after what you said last night, I don’t see a reason to wait any longer.”

“You love _me?”_ Dean manages, his very foundations shaken to their core. “But you - when I asked about the whole cuddling thing, you said you didn’t!”

“I said I wanted to be around people,” Cas says, a hint of red heating his cheeks as he carefully spreads the peanut butter. “You are people.”

“But I asked, point-blank, if you were into me.”

Cas picks up the jam jar like it personally offended him. “I didn’t know how you would have reacted if I said we shared a more profound bond than I do with any of my relatives.”

Dean hesitates. “Profound, really?”

“How would you describe our relationship?” Cas asks, eyebrows raised. “I have never told _anybody_ about my background. I felt safe enough to turn here instead of outside.”

“But animal control-”

Cas’s expression is almost amused as he looks up from spreading jam. “You don’t think I could outrun or outsmart animal control?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “When you put it that way…”

Cas presses both pieces of his sandwich together. “You really didn’t know?”

“What, that Daphne wasn’t real, that you were into me, or that you were a werewolf?” Dean asks, crossing his arms across his chest. “No to all of the above. It’s been a real month of revelations.”

Cas bites his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Dean says begrudgingly. “If it all came out the first night, I probably wouldn’t have dealt great. Better to space it all out.”

“I suppose.”

Dean levels him one hard look. “So we’re really doing this?”

“Doing what?” Cas asks, his head tilting. “Starting a relationship? I hope so.”

Dean looks away. “I can’t take you out.”

“I don’t need dates,” Cas assures him. “As long as you don’t complain about personal space, I will be happy.”

Dean takes a step closer. “Consider those words banned from this apartment.” 

Cas swallows, but he doesn’t move out of the way. Dean gently pries the butter knife out of Cas’s hand and lays it on the counter - normally a gross sacrilege in his precious kitchen, but he can’t give less of a shit with Cas in kissing distance.

With a tiny inhale of courage, he gently presses their lips together. Cas’s mouth is warm, almost hot, but the kiss is searing. Cas winds his fingers in the hem of Dean’s tee shirt, pulling him closer. Dean cradles Cas’s face in his hands, the pads of his fingers rasping over the long stubble Cas hasn’t been maintaining in the pandemic.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs as Dean bends down to suck and lap at Cas’s neck. He groans as Dean latches onto his pulse point at the hinge of his jaw. 

Dean crowds in closer, pressing their fronts flush together. Heat races down his body; Cas is hard. “Fuck,” he says into Cas’s skin.

Cas gasps, breaking away. “Dean-”

Dean chases, capturing him for a quick kiss before Cas deliberately steps away.

Cas licks his lips. “Can we not do this in the kitchen?”

“No? Yes? Whatever,” Dean says quickly, eager to get his mouth back on Cas. “My room or yours?”

Cas’s eyes gleam. “The couch is closer.”

Dean grins as he starts backing up, out of the kitchen. “Can we hold off on doggy style, though? My legs still hurt from-”

Cas cuts him off with a growl and another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like updates on the age old question, _will she ever get her shit together to write a quarantined-with-a-different-supernatural-creature series?_ I'm on tumblr as [goldenraeofsun](https://goldenraeofsun.tumblr.com/)!


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